


You Can Thank Your Lucky Stars

by kaskaskia_dense



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Depression, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, sorry for all those fuckign relationship tags, theres not anything else i can think of to tag???? bye, yikes these tags are a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-05 01:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12180480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaskaskia_dense/pseuds/kaskaskia_dense
Summary: Andy and Patrick get back from what was supposed to be a short gas station stop during a thunder storm. Pete's being moody. Joe just wants to cuddle.Title from "Sending Postcards From A Plane Crash (Wish You Were Here)" by Fall Out Boy (im a tttyg nerd shhhh)





	You Can Thank Your Lucky Stars

**Author's Note:**

> hey so this is literally just self indulgent poly fob written over the course of a day. it's supposed to be set in 2005 i guess? whatever, they're on a bus, and i also love joe trohman and polyamorous relationships. sorry for any errors in the work, i didnt edit it lmao im just astonished that i wrote something and FINISHED it. i might make this into a series, im not sure. anyways uhhhh heres some depressed pete wentz and pining joe

“Sorry we’re late.”

Andy and Patrick run in with wet clothes and ears tinged with cold, almost freaking Joe out with the way they’re knocking their fists against the counter while hanging up their coats and stomping their feet to rid rubber boots of rain. Going from nearly dozing off with the silence Pete had presented him for the last hour to the sudden cracks of lightning and friends is a bit of a whiplash, he’d say. Pete doesn’t move from where he’s slouching with a book in one hand and coffee in the other, but Joe can see the way his eyes flicker at their entry, something unsure and complicated that Joe doesn’t really have time to unpack. He’s yawned, like, five times in the last two minutes and would rather be sleeping in his bunk than dawdling in the front waiting for the more approachable half of Fall Out Boy, but he’s kind of got this song on repeat and really did want to wait for them, anyway. Pete once said that Patrick is his favorite shape, and Joe can’t really disagree.

“It’s fine. At least you’re here now.”

A light dims slightly and Andy settles in to the other side of Pete’s booth with his own weird vegan drink thing going on, and Pete’s eyes flicker up again, not quite meeting Andy’s but still longing for that connection. Joe knows that look. He’s done it plenty of times to Pete and Andy and Patrick and girls and the mirror. But then, it’s not quite his business to know who Pete looks at and how he looks at them. He still wants it to be, though.

A low rumble, a growl, if you will, of thunder bounces off the side of the bus and makes them all either whine or wish they had remembered to bring a warmer blanket. Patrick sighs and stops toying with his hat—no matter how many times he prods and pokes and tugs and twirls, it still won’t dry fast enough—and decides that Joe is now his own personal pillow. He drapes himself all over Joe, cupping his face in his hands and running his hands through his hair, which Joe might’ve minded if it weren’t for the fact that it was past midnight and didn’t need to fix his hair until morning.

“Joe,” Patrick whispered, “I think tonight is a cuddle night.”

Joe can’t help but smile when he sees how obviously tired Patrick looks and sounds, hair softly tousled and eyes teasing sleep. Patrick smiles back, and it feels like they’re sharing an inside joke and holy shit, they’re living in a cheesy romcom. That’s it—the ones that Pete (and therefore in extension Joe) watches during holidays, curled up in his bed with his fuzzy socks and special bowl for buttered popcorn and still humming the feel-good jingle from an ad he saw yesterday. They’re living in a fucking after-school special, a fucking romcom, all of them, somehow, and he feels the most of everything at once.

He tracks the lavender underline of Patrick’s eyes as they walk hand in hand to the bunks. He feels a bit guilty for wishing Pete and Andy would join them, but then thinks of the maybe-awkward feelings that could possibly arise from group cuddle nights and pre-existing feelings and almost misses a step. Patrick’s still there to guide him, though, sweet amazing awe-inspiring Patrick, and they eventually reach Joe’s bunk and curl into each other.

There’s still some light spreading into the room from the other side of the bus, reminding the pair that Pete and Andy are still awake, probably still not looking at each other, and probably still cold. Neither really wants to leave the warmth of the blankets or the other’s touch, but there would be even more warmth to go around if Pete and Andy were there with them, so they just decide to move to the front of the bus and take their blankets with them.

“Guys? Do you wanna, um, cuddle with us?” Patrick’s voice sounds tinny, echoing around the cold walls and trying to fight the ruckus of the storm outside. Joe wonders how he would sound singing a lullaby, and tucks his chin over Patrick’s shoulder as they stand near the booth waiting for a response.

Andy sets his drink to the side, looking first at Pete, then sighs and gets up. Stuffing spills a bit out of the green seat and it squeaks as he moves out of the booth, and Joe thinks they should really get some better seats sometime.

“Can I take a shower first? The rain isn’t really that, uh, good for my hair.” Andy’s voice is just as small as it always is, but maybe a bit more affectionate than usual. Domestic. Joe wants to hear it every day and latches himself on Patrick a bit more.

“Yeah. It’s okay, we can wait.” Andy smiles at them and something pink and blushing and warm without being warm circles between the three. He brushes his hand over Joe’s as he walks to get to the showers. His skin feels familiar.

Now it’s just Pete who’s sitting, still looking moody and emo and all the things the tabloids keep calling him—living up to his image. Life imitates art or art imitates life, right? Or, rather, dollar store counter fillers more than art, really. He looks more tired than any of them feel and tugs his striped brown hoodie closer around his hands, playing with a loose thread and tugging on the strings. He hasn’t talked for a couple hours, cooped up with his dog-eared book and slowly draining and refilling and draining his coffee. He might’ve been writing lyrics earlier, but it ended up looking a bit more like shoddy doodles of kids with balloons and open windows and trees getting struck by lightning.

He knows they’re watching him, still standing awkwardly waiting for him to agree and get up, but he won’t look up. Instead he pulls his knees up to his seat and hugs them, tucking into fetal position next to the window with his hoodie messing up his hair and dirty Converse probably leaving muddy prints on the seat that’ll be a pain in the neck to clean tomorrow. Joe doesn’t really want to deal with Pete’s moods or dirty seats right now, though, he’d actually rather be breathing with eyes closed next to the three most important people in his life, but they have to learn how to communicate better somehow, so. He clears his throat.

“Pete?”

Pete’s silent. Joe can see all of their reflections in the curtainless window, can see Pete’s eyes tracking every raindrop in front of him as it drips down the glass and dancing into the night. Maybe it’s less of a romcom than a dramedy, or some other patrician combination of genres that he wouldn’t care or know about if not for Pete’s expertise in acting like a literal teenage girl with a lot of emotional baggage and self esteem problems, or maybe Pete’s just an expert in acting like a Pete.

“Pete?” he tried again, trying to keep desperation and voice cracks out of his tone. Patrick shuffles his feet as if to add to the feeling of nervousness fighting sleep deprivation.

A particularly loud boom of thunder rattles the wheels, and exposes Pete’s priorities, because he immediately shifts to curl up tighter and looks at them with pleading eyes. His shoes scuff the padding of the seat again, and it still doesn’t matter.

“Guys?”

Joe’s heart almost breaks at Pete’s squeak, because up until now he hasn’t really taken in how bad Pete’s been progressing today, going from milk-mustached grins in the morning to broken headphones in the afternoon to uneven eyeliner and shaky hands in the evening. It hurts to pay attention but it hurts even more for it all to hit back later.

“It’s raining pretty hard out there, Pete. Come—uh, come to bed, with us?”

They fasten onto each other’s eyes. Joe swallows thickly. Someone should paint them looking at each other like this. There are too many swirls and blues and infinities for Joe to count. It feels all too much like modern day Van Gogh, depression and sky and muddled perception, spiced up with a dash of human despair. He can hear the sound of the shower rushing down and something that’s maybe, probably Andy dropping a shampoo bottle. Pete sniffs and makes a shaky move to get up.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.” Joe can see the tremble in his step and something that looks like it’s asking for forgiveness in his eyes. Ouch.

Patrick looks like he really doesn’t want to talk about Pete’s problems either, or talk to Pete about Pete’s problems, but he does bring him in for a hug and they bury each other’s head into arms and soft smells and fluffy blankets.

“Since it would be, uh, a little cramped if we were to all stuff into a bunk, I’ll get the mattress out. Sound good?”

Pete whines as Patrick steps away to get the mattress (the small, ratty, gray one covered with mothballs that still serves its purpose nonetheless) and clings instead onto Joe. Joe smiles, eyes creasing, and the edges of Pete’s mouth tease something like that, too.

“I’m only agreeing to this because you guys are the best cuddlers, like, ever.”

“I expect no less.” Joe can hear the laughter in Patrick’s voice, muffled from behind the closet door, and it makes him smile even more. Except, he does expect a little more from Pete, because they’ve been practically living on this bus for six months, and it’d be impossible to ignore all these feelings and smiles and late-night wishes at the hands of another. He wants to trap back every stolen breath in his mind and leave every strangled, choked, whispered “I’m sorry” behind in the West Coast. He expects so much from Pete because he loves him, but he doesn’t really count it as being in love, because he can’t say it out loud.

Patrick drags the mattress to the place with the most space possible—in between the booth on one wall of the bus and the cabinets under the counter. From there, they pile on blankets and pillows until it almost reminds Joe of those forts he would make when he was a kid, tucked in between hotel beds and heavy books holding down the sheets. The three of them settle down on the mattress, curling into each other yet again like sad but talented puzzle pieces, and wait for Andy.

Pete is in the middle with Patrick on the side closer to the cabinets and Joe on the side closer to the booth. Patrick looks different without his glasses but it’s not a bad different, just, different. They drag fingers over covers and make each other shiver with their breath, not because they’re cold but because it’s contact and shame and everything they _want_. Joe can feel the grace tapping in between their bones, everything mismatched but perfect, legs slotting between legs.

Yeah, they are the best cuddlers, like, ever.

A curl flops onto Joe’s forehead, and Pete goes to adjust it, but Joe also goes to adjust it, and they meet in the middle and something’s burning on the tips of his cheeks that he never wants to forget about. They’re both lying on their backs so they can see the grimy beige ceiling of the bus, and Patrick’s on his side facing them. His face is pressed into two different pillows and he’s absolutely adorable. Joe wants to frame all of them, he really does.

Andy appears from out of the bathroom, hair dried and shirt sticking to his arms and chest. He flips off the light so that it’s just the four of them and the storm and the dark in the bus. If Joe wasn’t so tired, he’d totally be checking Andy out, and the thought of him and Andy makes his face a bit hotter than it already is. He’s only now getting used to the idea that maybe thoughts like that can be resolved.

Pete grins and tugs at Andy’s arm, pressing a smooch onto his shoulder once Joe has gotten the message and scooched over to let Andy in between them. Their legs tangle in a different formation from before, still feeling one hundred percent right, and there’s another set of eyes to dream to and another series of breaths to take in and remember. They cuddle around each other because it’s the only thing they can do, now. Joe plays with Andy’s hair and Patrick holds Pete’s hand. They pass off electricity to each other, rattling and bouncing in their bodies to a beat only they know.

“You know,” Patrick says, voice at a level just above a whisper, “You guys are pretty great.”

“Yeah, I know,” Pete says, and burrows further under the blankets. The smile in his voice shines through it all. He turns to Patrick so they’re both looking at each other and each other’s eyes and each other’s rewinding thoughts, and Joe kind of wishes he could be between them or both of them, but reminds himself that they need to work things out on their own. Which, judging by the way they’re so close their noses are brushing and their eyes are tinted in the faint moon glow and their dreams are tilted on their shared axis, they seem to be doing just fine.

“You okay, Pete?” It’s something softer than a whisper, now. Patrick asks it like a secret. Andy and Joe are silent, taking it in, breathing.

“I’m trying to,” and Pete edges forward and brings their lips together. Andy tenses, eyes something mildly frantic, like maybe he wasn’t expecting either of them to do this just yet, but Joe runs a finger over his chest and they calm down, together. It’s not long before they’re together like Pete and Patrick, too, too close to be anything other than what they are. They stop thinking about being unfinished and incomplete because they aren’t. Joe smiles as he closes his eyes and leans into Andy, as he leans into love.

On the other side of the mattress, Joe can hear Pete and Patrick pull apart, Pete left breathing heavily and clutching onto Patrick’s shirt. They all shift a little closer to each other, and it’s not until Pete is snaking his hand onto Joe’s chest and bringing him just as close that he and Andy pull apart too.

“I think we, um, need to really do something like this more. It’ll be, like, um, communal make-out sessions.” They all nod in agreement to Pete’s statement.

“Definitely. Communal make-outs all the way.”

“Yeah.”

And Joe and Pete trade kisses and Andy and Patrick hug each other a little more, and they switch off so everyone’s involved and a little more comfortable with being in love. Joe can feel his heart surge whenever he looks at them. Maybe it is a romcom, after all.

Pete starts to moan and grab a little tighter after a while, and Joe is thinking it’s under control until his hips buck and he has to stop Pete from doing anything else.

“No, Pete, I’m—I’m too tired to do anything. Like, like that.” Pete draws back, a bit embarrassed, face red, but Joe clings onto him again and runs his hand through his hair. “It’s just that—I’m too tired. You didn’t do anything wrong. But maybe it can wait until tomorrow, yeah?”

Pete nods, and shifts his head to look over to where Patrick and Andy are starting to doze off.

“Joe.”

“I’m right here, Pete.”

They keep their voices as low as possible, as to not wake the others up, but there’s something urgent in Pete’s. Joe wants him to be alright.

“I love you.”

And that’s it, that’s it, Joe loves him so much, he loves him so fucking much, and to hear him say it is what he’s wanted for so long. He can barely get out an “I love you, too,” before catching that sob in his throat.

“I love you so much, Pete Wentz, you don’t even know, you don’t even _know_ —”

Pete lets Joe ramble and sidles beside him, sharing the blanket and pillow and everything else. The darkness and the storm doesn’t seem as threatening anymore. Pete closes his eyes, and soon, he’s asleep like the rest. Joe closes his own eyes as well and hopes he has some really good dreams tonight. He hopes they all have some good dreams tonight, ones with ice cream sundaes and sick basslines and dark brown eyes free from any curse or sadness or unlovable feeling.

Joe’s a fucking _master_ at cuddling.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading !!!! if u liked this leave kudos and a comment!! it'd be a bit interesting i guess to see if people like this so i can post more of it


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